


Whose Woods These Are (I Think I Know)

by nxvarros (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff Ahoy, M/M, Mystrade Winter Exchange, New Year's Day, New Year's Eve, major fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:17:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nxvarros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A blizzard leaves Mycroft and Greg stranded over New Year's. And something's in the champagne...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whose Woods These Are (I Think I Know)

**Author's Note:**

> A Winter Mystrade Exchange gift for Dammitbenedict!

_Goddamn snowstorm,_ Lestrade thought as he stared forlornly out the window of the opulent library. Thanks to the storm, there was no way in hell he’d be getting back to London in time for New Year’s. Well, at least he hadn’t had anything planned. He watched as the flurries brushed past the window, each one appearing for a second and leaving, turning with the howling storm outside. Footsteps clattered in the hall, and a shadow passed behind his back. A hesitant knocking revealed Mycroft in the hallway, clutching a tray with food and tea. Lestrade noted wearily that it was set for two.

            “Mycroft, you don’t have to-” Lestrade broke off as he noticed the look of consternation on the other man’s face.

            “Nonsense, Detective Inspector. It is entirely my fault that you are forced to remain here; the least I can do is ensure your comfort.” Mycroft delicately set down the tray and sat opposite Lestrade. “Now,” he continued, “I wish to sincerely apologise for detaining you here over the New Year’s holiday. It is not much consolation, but I do have a small celebration prepared for the day itself, and you are most welcome to partake in it.”

            “It’s alright, Mycroft,” Lestrade replied dejectedly. “It’s not as though I was going to some big party anyways. I don’t even have anything to wear. I’ll just wander around, probably read a bit.” Saying so, he picked at his food. The cavernous mansion that Mycroft called home had been more than a bit overwhelming the first time he was kidnapped and ~~threatened~~ asked politely for information. Now, having been there so many times, he knew it almost as well as he knew the streets of London.

            “As you wish, Detective Inspector. I do not mean to cause any discomfort.” Mycroft nodded solemnly and fell silent. They ate together in an awkward, yet comfortable silence. As Lestrade leaned against the window frame and sighed in content, Mycroft rose as though to take the tray. Almost on an impulse, Lestrade reached out and grasped Mycroft’s hand. “No.”

“No what?” Mycroft asked, an inquisitive look on his face, though doubtlessly he had already deduced the intent behind Lestrade’s actions.

            “I just- er, thank you.” Lestrade smiled sheepishly. “This is more exciting than whatever I was going to do at home.” He turned back to the window and watched Mycroft’s reflection grow smaller and smaller as he fairly crept out of the room. Lestrade picked absently at a string of tinsel that had somehow found its way to his coat, cursing himself. Why had he felt the need to do that? He’d been so good before about not being an awkward idiot before this suave, sophisticated man. How had he managed to fuck up royally now?

            Mycroft, meanwhile, was making his way back to the kitchen with the tray. He tentatively raised a hand to his cheek and found it to be warm. Had he been blushing? Indeed he had. He lowered his trembling hand and tried to regain his composure as he strode back to the kitchen. He set the tray down and stumbled into the sitting room, collapsing wearily onto the sofa. He had never done something so disgustingly _plebeian_ as blushing before, let alone accompanied someone for a meal unless he had to.  What could this possibly mean? He withdrew into his own mind to contemplate this strange series of events.

A few hours later, Lestrade found himself in a bed. Wait. A bed? How in the living hell had he gotten here? He rubbed the back of his head and took a quick look at his surroundings. Judging by the look of the room, he was still at Mycroft’s house. A quick glance at the bedside table revealed that someone had left him a note. In thin, spidery handwriting, it read:

_Detective Inspector,_

_I must once again express my apologies for everything. My original intention was not to have you moved, but you looked fairly uncomfortable leaning on the doorjamb. You will find everything to the specifications of your own home, with a few (hopefully unnoticed) modifications. By this time, I am moderately certain that you know your way around the house, so do not hesitate to ask for anything you may need. I can assure you, it will be provided with the slightest indication that you are in need. While I unfortunately cannot ensure that you will be home by New Year’s Day, I can ensure that while you remain here, you will experience the utmost comfort._

_Mycroft Holmes_

            Huh. Lestrade thought that that seemed unnecessarily formal, but who was he to judge? Folding the letter and placing it in his pocket, he stumbled wearily towards the door, tripping over a package. He bent down and peered at the label. _“G Lestrade”_ in the same handwriting as the letter. Lestrade felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach knowing that Mycroft had touched his belongings, but for the life of him, he couldn’t tell if it was a good feeling or a bad one.

            He brought the box into his room and cut it open. Inside was enough clothing to tide him over until he could go home. Looking closer, he realised that the clothing was both new and in his exact size, not to mention of a finer quality than anything he’d ever worn. There was even a nice suit, probably for that New Year’s gig Mycroft had mentioned earlier. Speaking of earlier, what time was it, anyways? He gaped as he checked his watch and noticed that he’d slept nearly an entire day. Which meant that the New Year’s party was tonight. Pulling the suit out, he noticed it too was made of a far finer material than anything he could ever even hope to afford. The silk rustled slightly as he smoothed it over his body, and he turned every so slightly in front of the mirror, chuckling a bit as he found himself preening.   _Who are you even preening for?_ he thought melancholically to himself, hands stilling and the grin freezing on his face. He shook off the thoughts and left the room, closing the door with a soft click behind him. 


End file.
